


Angels & Insects

by lynnenne



Series: The Insectverse [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Incest, M/M, Threesome Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-14
Updated: 2005-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnenne/pseuds/lynnenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part One of the "Insectverse" series. Angel would do anything to protect his son, but his actions have some unintended consquences for Connor, Spike and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels & Insects

**Author's Note:**

> Part One of the "Insectverse," a series of four fics that can be read separately or as a whole. Set post-"Not Fade Away." Beta'd by Kita.
> 
> This part: Warnings for incest.

A week before Angel’s initiation into the Circle, he handed Gunn a contract.

“Have a look at this. Tell me if there’s any way Wolfram &amp; Hart can get out of this deal. Keep it under wraps… I don’t want anybody else working this case. And Gunn? I want an answer by tomorrow. We clear?”

The bite in Angel’s voice meant he was in one of those I’m-the-boss-and-what-I-say-goes moods. Gunn was getting pretty sick of those moods.

“Yeah. We’re clear.”

So he’d spent all night doing the lawyer thing. Pored over every clause, checked all the contingencies, consulted all the precedents. Used every legal argument Wolfram &amp; Hart had jammed into his brain, trying to find a loophole. Came back the next morning, exhausted. Threw it on Angel’s desk.

“It’s airtight, man. This guy has total immunity, in perpetuity, in every dimension. There’s no way Wolfram &amp; Hart or any of their agents can touch him.”

“You sure?”

“Sorry, man. Did my best.”

Gunn was surprised that Angel didn’t push the issue. In fact, he looked relieved. Probably sick of having to kill their clients every other day, even if most of them deserved it.

He briefly thought of telling Angel that the immunity didn’t extend to the guy’s family. But then he thought, what if the client had kids? No point in making them a target, just because their dad happened to be a rat bastard. The way Angel had been acting lately, Gunn didn’t trust him to leave civilians out of it.

Whoever this Connor dude was, better to keep his family off the hit list. No point in telling Angel they were fair game.

A week later, Gunn was too busy bleeding out in the alley to worry about fair.

*

After the battle, Angel went to Spike. The old man always came to him when he was grieving. The first time had been after Fred. Well, first time since they both had souls, anyhow. Then again after their Roman holiday. And now, the funeral.

Funerals.

They buried Wes and Gunn, then went back to the Hyperion. Angel shoved Spike into the lobby. Stripped his coat off, tore down his pants. Fucked him face down on the marble floor. They lay there for a long time, not moving. Spike felt a single tear fall onto the back of his neck. He put his hand over Angel’s and squeezed.

  
“Don’t,” Angel whispered, and moved his hand away. “Not now.”

“Why not now? ’S not like there’s anything you gotta do tomorrow.”

“Yes, there is,” but he didn’t elaborate. Spike got up, hauled Angel to his feet. Lay in bed with him all day, listening to him not cry.

The next night, Angel rented a car. A convertible. Like the one in the fleet he no longer captained. Spike worried that maybe he was gonna try to get a tan, come sunrise. Didn’t bother to voice his concerns.

“Keep an eye on Illyria,” Angel said as he turned the ignition. Then threw the car into gear and sped off.

Spike turned to find Blue standing behind him, eyes unblinking.

“I do not require a chaperone.”

“Right, then. Help yourself to the glassware. I’m going out.”

*

Five minutes in the record store confirmed something Spike had suspected for decades. Music executives had all sold their souls to the devil. Listening to Britney chirp through the speakers was enough to make him want to eat the staff. He picked up the Dead Kennedys’ _Live at the Deaf Club_ and fought the urge to nick it.

“That one’s awesome.”

Spike turned towards the voice. A young man’s voice, no more than 20 years old. A pair of big blue eyes looked out from beneath shaggy brown bangs. The smile below the eyes was wide enough to be contagious.

“Yeah,” Spike replied with a smirk. “It is. I was at the concert.”

“No way!”

“Way.” He laughed at how American he sounded. Too many years in Sunnydale, hanging with Niblet.

“Wow. That was in, like, 1979. That’d make you, what? Forty-five? Fifty?”

“I look good for my age.” Spike waved the CD in the kid’s direction. “Wouldn’t peg you as a fan. Little too young to remember the Kennedys. The band or the President.”

“They’re from my hometown. Well, sort of my hometown. I’m going to school in the Bay area. Besides…” The boy ducked his head, like he was confessing to an embarrassing secret. “I’m a bit of a history buff. I like older bands.”

Spike touched his tongue to his teeth. “I bet you do.”

He eyed the kid. Tasty bit, this one. Full, red lips. Lean frame. There was something about him, though... “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

The boy snorted. “Dude. That is the lamest pickup line ever.”

“Bit full of ourselves, are we?”

“Kidding.” The boy matched the tongue trick with one of his own, and Spike’s mouth may have watered. Just a little. “But yeah, you do know me from somewhere. We met at Wolfram &amp; Hart. I’m a friend of Angel’s.”

“Right,” Spike nodded. “You’re the pup who was panting after Blue… Illyria.”

“Well, you gotta admit, that cat suit was pretty hot.”

“Like a second skin, even.”

The boy held out his hand. “I’m Connor.”

Spike shook the hand, feeling oddly human at the gesture. “Spike.”

“Is Angel around?” Connor’s brow furrowed a little. He seemed to be holding his breath as he asked the question. “I went to his office and there was just this big pile of rubble. Then I went to the hotel and it was empty.”

“He’s out of town. Didn’t say when he’d be back.”

“Oh.” The kid’s face broke out into a goofy smile. Made Spike wonder if he was drunk or something.

“Wanna go for a drink?” Connor asked.

And about to get drunker.

*

Angel was glad to get out of L.A. Being there made him feel like there was something he was supposed to be doing. Fighting or struggling or helping the helpless. He couldn’t handle work, after what they’d just been through. What they’d just lost.

When it was all over, he and Spike had been nothing but a jagged crossroad of cuts, unable even to crawl away from the sun. Illyria had dragged them both into the shade and left them for dead. She came back, days later, to find them still bleeding, but not dust. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for that or not.

He was grateful for Spike, though. That he’d fought; that he’d lived; that he’d stuck around after. Though how long he’d stay, Angel wasn’t sure. He never knew with Spike, whether he was going to run off to Rome or stay and hold his hand. Spike went where he was needed, and Angel couldn’t give him a mission right now. Couldn’t even find one for himself.

He sighed and breathed the night air. He loved this drive. Not just because it was beautiful, but because of what was waiting for him at the end of the road.

*

Spike took Connor to a local sports bar. The kid was so fresh-faced, it felt wrong dragging him to the dives Spike normally hung out in. College kids liked sports, he figured.

They settled into a booth near the back. Ordered two beers. Spike pulled out his fags and lit up. Connor wrinkled his nose.

“Are you allowed to smoke in here?”

“You old enough to drink?”

Connor grinned.

They hauled out their shopping bags to compare loot. Connor had the latest Green Day CD. Spike had the Kennedys, plus a new video game the kid had recommended.

“You’ll love it,” Connor said. “The graphics are so cool. My roommates hate playing it with me, ’cause I always kick their asses.”

“Well, you’ll have to show me the ropes, then. You being the expert, and all.”

“Yeah, you’d probably give me a run for my money. With your reflexes.”

Spike eyed the boy through the haze of smoke. “And what would you know about my reflexes?”

“I know you’re a vampire.”

Well. Didn’t see that coming. “Angel tell you that?”

Connor just shrugged.

“So, how come you’re sitting in the corner with the big bad vamp, ’stead of grabbing for the nearest pool cue?”

Another shrug. “Angel trusts you. Guess that makes you one of the good guys.”

Spike snorted. “Only reason Angel trusts me is I’m the only one of his crew left alive.” Fuck. Coulda kicked himself for that one. Rather not think on it. “ ’Less you count Blue.” He stared into his beer.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. “I heard there was a big fight. Guess it didn’t go too well, huh?”

Spike didn’t answer. Just ordered another round.

*

Illyria began on the roof of the Hyperion and worked her way down. She examined every floor methodically, one by one. A ruler must know her base of operations intimately. She must know every hiding place, every weakness where an enemy might gain access.

The structure was a hive. Similar to other formations the shell had studied; edifices built by tiny creatures with six legs, some flying, some crawling, populating every crevice of the earth. They were resilient, these species. Continuing for hundreds of thousands of millennia. One day they would outlive the humans. They had much to teach her.

Illyria had never lived in a hive. If she were to defend this kingdom, she must study how such societies were built. She searched the shell’s memories for how such things were done.

First she would need a jungle.

*

“So, how old are you, really?” Connor’s tongue was starting to sound too big for his mouth. “Like, a hundred, or something?”

“Or something.”

“Wow. You do look good for your age.”

Spike couldn’t help a little leer. The boy was getting that glow. The mellow, sleepy one that meant the victim was about to lean in close. Whisper all his deepest, darkest secrets. Spike had cultivated that look enough times, back in the day.

Another puff. A little smile. “So, what’s your deal with Angel, anyway?” Casual-like. Just making conversation. “How’d a Bay City Roller like you get to be best buddies with the likes of him?”

The kid gave him a sneer to rival Spike’s own. “Bay City Roller? You have got to be kidding.”

Spike’s mouth twitched up around the corners. “Thought you liked older bands.”

“They weren’t a band. They were like… a parody of a band. Only without the funny.”

Spike held up his hands, cigarette dangling between his fingers. “ ’K, fine. I’m just asking… how’d you get to be pals with Angel? Been a long time since the old man’s taken an interest in little boys.”

“I’m not little.”

Spike grinned outright at the petulant tone. “So it’s like that, is it? Didn’t know the boss man was up to his old tricks again.”

“What do you mean, old tricks?” Connor looked confused. Maybe a little worried. “Like, killing people or something? He hasn’t lost his soul again, has he?”

“Not yet. Might be in danger of it, though, with you hangin’ about. Just don’t go making him too happy.”

“Why would I… ?” And then the light went on. “Oh. Oh no. Oh, that is just…” Connor gulped down his beer. Waved his hands around like he didn’t know where to point them. “Dude, you are _so_ off base. I’m not – _we’re_ not – I can’t even _begin_ to tell you how wrong that is.”

He squirmed and wriggled in his seat like a puppy. Spike hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. “I’m just saying. Time was, the old git would have taken an interest. Pretty boy like you…”

“I am NOT pretty!”

And damn, if that didn’t make Spike laugh out loud. It was like talking to a wee little puppet Angel. “And you with your interest in older… bands…”

“Would you shut the fuck UP already!”

And just as easy to wind up.

The kid shoved him, but it was just for show. “So?” Spike continued.

“So, what?”

“So, how do you know Angel? I mean, if you’re not shagging…”

“We’re really not.” Connor paused. His face got serious through the beer buzz. “Angel helped out me and my folks. Some demon thing was coming after us, threatening my family. I needed to learn how to fight, and he taught me.”

“That it?”

“That’s…” He paused. “No. He sort of… took me under his wing. Protected me.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Trying not to slur, Spike figured. “He was a mentor, I guess. Almost like a dad, you know?”

Yeah. Spike knew.

“But I already have a dad.” Connor took another swig of beer. “You really thought Angel and I were shagging?”

It was cute, to hear that word roll off an American tongue. Or it would be, if Spike ever used words like ‘cute.’ “Wouldn’t be the first time Angel’s taken a shine to a boy.”

“I didn’t even know… I mean, I didn’t think he was gay.”

“Labels don’t mean much to a vampire.” He smirked. “Doesn’t stop me callin’ him a poofter at every opportunity.”

“What about his girlfriend?”

“You mean Wolfgirl?” The kid nodded. “Dunno. He sent her off right before the big battle. Haven’t heard anything about her since. He might be off visiting with her right now, for all I know.”

“So, he’s bi, then.”

“You’re missin’ the point, kid. You live as long as Angel and me, you get around to doing everything. Or, everyone. Girls, boys, slayers, robots… between the two of us, there’s nothing we haven’t done.”

“Huh.” Connor stared at him through narrowed lids, and Spike suddenly wished he hadn’t led the conversation down this road.

“So, have you and Angel ever…?”

Balls.

“Think that’s enough Twenty Questions for one night.”

“Oh, my GOD! You totally have!”

Spike stubbed out his fag. “Listen, College Boy… I’m itchin’ to try out this video game you keep yammerin’ on about. What say we take it back to my place so I can kick your scrawny arse?”

“Yeah, right. You just want to grab my scrawny arse.” Connor climbed out of the booth, grinning like a little boy who’d just scored his first-ever goal in a footie match. “I knew you were trying to pick me up.”

Spike had to work hard to keep up his glower. “If I were gonna pick you up, I’d have thrown you over my shoulder and spanked you, by now.”

The kid’s smile got even wider. “Poofter.”

*

The brightly lit home was familiar by now. Comforting. Visiting this place had been one of Angel’s favorite things to do, that first summer Connor had spent with his new family. Spike would have laughed, seeing him lurk in the shadows outside the house. They were a couple of creepy old stalkers, the two of them.

It helped that the house was architecturally friendly. Lots of glass meant an easy line of sight. He could see Connor’s parents watching TV in the family room. He wandered around to Connor’s room, but it was empty. He checked the other rooms, but found only Connor’s sister, glued to her computer screen, typing and laughing at the same time. Angel frowned. Maybe Connor had decided to stay on campus for the summer. Or he could just be out with friends.

Everything looked quiet, at least. If Connor were in trouble somehow, Laurence and Colleen wouldn’t be curled up on the couch, all laughter and popcorn. Angel smiled and got back into his car. He’d call before visiting, the next time.

The van didn’t show up outside the house until 20 minutes later. By that time, Angel was back on the road to L.A.

*

They left the bar and headed back towards Spike’s apartment, video game in hand. They’d only been walking for a few minutes before they heard the requisite scream. Spike sighed. You couldn’t even go for a drink in this town without tripping over a rescue mission.

“Wait here,” he told Connor. Then he took off running.

A couple of turns down a few side streets, and he found a boy about Connor’s age, a vamp diving for his throat. Spike hauled the vamp off and made short work of him. But with his back to the alley entrance, he didn’t see the gang coming up behind him.

A hand came down on his shoulder, hauled him around. A fist connected with his jaw. A foot went under his leg at the same time and knocked him to the ground. Another fist came at him and he dodged it, reaching up to ram a stake through a chest. One down. Another hand plunged down through the dust and slammed his head back into the pavement. Dazed, he felt a boot connecting with his ribs. He grabbed the leg, twisted it and knocked over two of his assailants with one swipe. One of them landed on top of him, keeping him pinned.

Just as another boot connected with his head, the vamp above him crumpled to dust. Spike flipped to his feet, thinking one of his attackers must have staked his buddy by mistake. But then he saw Connor, punching, spinning, taking out vamps as if… well, as if Angel had taught him everything he knew.

After that, it was easy. Fluid. They fell in step as if they’d done this dance a thousand times. The fight lasted another few minutes, a graceful, brutal display of power and rhythm. Connor had Angel’s moves, but looser. Less brute force, more whip-snap of lean limbs. He was a thing of beauty.

Spike dusted the last vamp, and Connor went over to the teenager, still crouched in the corner. “It’s okay,” he said, voice soft. Same tone that Buffy had always used with the Bit, whenever she was scared. “They’re gone. You can go home now.”

The teenager got up, nodded shakily, and ran as fast as his feet would carry him.

Connor turned to Spike, still panting, face flushed. “That was _way_ cooler than a video game.”

Spike’s nostrils flared as they caught the scent of blood in the air. “You’re cut,” he said.

“Where?”

“Right here.” Spike touched his own face, along the cheekbone. Watched as the kid mirrored his actions, fingers coming away covered in blood. His mouth watered a lot, this time.

“Is it bad?”

Spike shook his head. Didn’t trust himself to speak.

Connor stared for a moment at his fingers, then took a step. Then another. Close enough so he could have put his hand on Spike’s chest, if he wanted to. Instead, he held his fingers up to Spike’s lips.

“Wanna taste?”

Spike felt a rush to his cock so intense, it knocked the wind out of him.

With more control than he knew he had, he sucked Connor’s fingers into his mouth. Kept his eyes on Connor’s, as he slid his tongue around. Watched as the boy’s eyes closed in pleasure. Then felt his control slipping as the blood hit the back of his tongue. It crackled and burst in his mouth like an electrical surge, something forbidden and familiar. He felt his face changing, felt a sharp point nicking the kid’s fingers. Connor gave a little yelp and pulled his hand away.

Shit.

“Sorry,” Spike breathed. “Just… vampire, here. Don’t always remember to…” His pulled his fangs back. Shit, shit, shit. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have…” Connor wiped his hand on his jeans. “It’s just, the fight, and all that stuff that we talked about, back at the bar. It got me wondering about… things.” He looked up at the sky. “But I guess I’m not ready to do more than wonder.”

“Hey. No worries.” Spike tried to sound soft. Reassuring. “Not like there’s any big rush. You got your whole life to figure things out.”

Connor looked at him and smiled. “But I like you. And if you were a girl in a cat suit, I wouldn’t even have to think about it.”

Spike laughed, the tension going out of his body. They were saved from more conversation by a chirp coming from Connor’s jacket. He reached in and fished a cell phone out of his pocket.

“Hello?”

Connor listened in silence to whoever was on the line. Spike watched as the boy’s smile faded into blackness. His eyes went wide and all the color drained out of his face.

He dropped the phone with a clatter and took off running down the alley.

*

Connor didn’t remember the drive home. Didn’t remember whether he went to his house first, or to the hospital. Couldn’t for the life of him say how he ended up in the morgue, with his father’s body lying on a slab and his mother sobbing in his arms. Two sets of memories stuffed into his head, and he couldn’t find that night in either one of them. He wondered, then, why it hurt more than all his memories put together.

He knew this wasn’t some random home invasion. His mother had described their attackers to the police. They thought she was too traumatized to give a coherent description, but Connor knew they were demons. It was just like before, with Vail. This had something to do with him and his super-powered past.

“I have to go, Mom.”

“What? Why?” Colleen clutched at his arm. Her face held a thousand questions, and each one was an accusing finger. _Why did you kill your father?_

His eyes toughened like leather and he yanked his arm away. “I have to go.”

He went back to his house and stood on the front lawn. He sniffed the air, sifting through the evidence that hung on the breeze. His father’s blood on the grass. His mother’s panic. Burnt rubber where the van had peeled out of the driveway.

_That way._

*

“Why?” he snarled, punching the creature in the face. It had been easy to track, harder to capture alive. There was a thick layer of ooze covering its reddish skin. It kept slipping through his hands like a squirming fish.

The demon rumbled something in a language he didn’t understand.

Connor punched it again. “In English!”

“Warning,” the thing spit between mouthfuls of blood.

“About what? From who?”

“Wolf. Ram. Hart. Tell Angelus… stay away.” The demon’s head rolled back. “Next time… kill the rest.”

Connor shook the creature until the ooze flew in great drops from its skin. “You stay away from my family!” he screamed. “You hear me? Stay AWAY!” He punched so hard his fist came through back of the demon’s skull.

Connor let the creature’s body fall to the ground with a thud. He stood up, gore dripping from his arm. So this wasn’t about him, after all. This was about Angel.

It was always about Angel.

Connor turned his face up to the night sky. It was blacker than he had ever seen it. No moon, no stars. As black as the bubbling tar pits in Q’or Toth. He and Holtz used to camp on the edge of those pits. The heat and smell kept predators at bay.

He felt that heat uncurling inside him again, like a serpent after a long sleep. A forked tongue was flicking out of its mouth. It tasted the air, and found it ready.

*

Angel arrived back at the Hyperion to find a rainforest in his lobby. Illyria was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by plants.

“You have returned from your joyride.”

He fought his way past a huge hanging fern. “My ‘joyride’?”

“Spike informs me that when a human steals a car for pleasure, this custom is called a joyride.”

“I didn’t steal the car, I rented it. I’m thinking of buying it, actually. We’re gonna need new wheels and why are all these plants here?”

“Their silence is comforting to me. Preferable to the pitiful mewlings of creatures such as yourself.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you found a hobby, but can you maybe arrange them so they’re not all in the middle of the room?”

“Their positioning is important to you?”

“Yeah, see, if we decide to take on new clients, they’re gonna need space to move around. If humans don’t have enough space, they bump into things, and your plants might end up getting knocked over.”

Illyria raised her chin in agreement. “I will rearrange them so as to protect their welfare.”

“Good.” He nodded, exhausted. Every conversation with her was like mental acrobatics, and he was never sure if there was a net down there, waiting to catch him when he fell. “Where’s Spike?”

“He did not return last night.”

“Must have gone back to his apartment.” Angel started to climb the stairs. “I’m gonna get some sleep. It was a long drive.”

“Was your journey successful?”

He turned. “No. I drove up the coast to visit someone, but… when I got there, he wasn’t home.”

*

Spike woke to the sound of insistent banging. He cursed as his brain dragged him up from the delirium of slumber. He’d been having some great dreams. Best in a long time, actually. Didn’t want to abandon them just yet.

“Spike!” Connor’s voice was on the other side of the door.

Well. Maybe dreams could come true.

He sat up in bed, rubbed his hair. “Hang on a mo’,” he yelled. Hauled on his jeans. Left his shirt hanging loose, just enough to cover up his hard-on. Not that he wouldn’t mind seeing the look on the boy’s face, when he noticed it.

Then he remembered the look on the boy’s face last night, when he’d dropped the phone and took off on a tear down the alley. Fuck. Poor kid. The memory only made him harder.

When he opened the door, Connor had two women standing behind him. Two women who, judging from their scent, had done nothing but cry for the past 24 hours.

“Can we come in?”

“Yeah,” Spike stepped aside to let them in. “ ’Course.”

He led the ladies over to the couch. Connor made introductions, but neither woman spoke. Just nodded, in a daze. Spike took Connor’s arm and led him toward the bedroom door.

“How’d you find me?”

“Doesn’t matter. My father was murdered last night. Wolfram &amp; Hart are behind it.”

Surprise didn’t begin to describe Spike’s feelings at that one. Vertigo was more like it. “Wolfram &amp; Hart? What’d they want with the likes of you?”

“I’ll explain it later. Right now I need you to watch them.” He nodded towards the couch, his voice shaking. “I’m afraid one of them might be next. Can they stay with you for a few hours?”

The feeling in Spike’s belly went from vertigo to falling. It was all too familiar. He wondered vaguely if Connor’s mum liked _Passions_. “Where are you going?”

“There’s some stuff I gotta do.” Connor’s mouth was a hard, thin line pressed into his face. Spike knew that look. Angel had worn it, the day he’d given his crew the speech about the Black Thorn.

“Listen… kid…” Spike touched his arm. He could feel the muscles beneath his fingers rippling with rage. “Last time somebody took on Wolfram &amp; Hart, half his crew ended up in the bloody ground. You go after them, you’ll leave your mum with no husband _and_ no son. That what you want?”

“I know I can’t…” The boy shook free of his grip, and Spike could smell tears pooling behind his eyes. “I’m just gonna go see some people. See if they can help. Can you watch them?”

“Wolfram &amp; Hart know where I live. This might not be the safest place for them.”

“Is there somewhere else you can take them?”

“I might know a place, yeah.”

Spike went into the bedroom, rifled through a drawer. He could hear Connor back in the sitting room, talking to his mum and sister in hushed tones. Spike found a card, called the number that Andrew had given him on his last visit to L.A. Then he took Connor’s mum and little sis to stay with the Slayers.

*

When Angel woke up, he came down to find the lobby looking more like an arboretum than a jungle. Illyria had arranged the plants into something surprisingly tasteful, but she’d used the extra room to install a glass case in the middle of the floor. She was currently on her knees, leaning over it, watching whatever was inside with great interest.

“What is that?” Angel came a bit closer.

“It is called an ant farm.”

He sighed. Illyria was crazier than Fred had ever thought of being. He wished she would just go back to writing on the walls.

“Remember our little talk about space? Clumsy humans? Having a glass house in here is a good way to end up with ants eating your garden and my furniture.”

“Ants do not consume furniture. You are referring to termites.”

“Well, whatever, just… put it someplace where it won’t get smashed. Fights tend to break out in this lobby on a regular basis.”

“I will take it into the basement, where the other cage is kept.” But she made no move, just kept staring into the glass.

Angel poured himself some blood and sat down next to a rubber tree plant. Illyria stayed kneeling over the ant farm, hair hanging down over her face. Her head twitched and tilted occasionally at whatever she was seeing down there.

“They worship her.”

Angel sipped his blood. “Who?”

“The Queen.”

Oh. “You should have convinced Knox to bring you back as an ant, instead of killing Fred.”

Illyria nodded, as if this made perfect sense. “It would have been preferable.”

Angel laid his head back against the couch, wondering if he should try calling Connor today. No sooner had the thought left his head than his son burst through the door.

“Connor. Hey. I was just…”

He had just enough time to get to his feet before the punch hit him.

“You son of a bitch!”

Angel landed, sprawled across the floor, inches away from the ant farm. Illyria scooped up her prize and made for the basement.

“Connor, what…”

“They killed him!” Connor was on him, fists flailing, too anguished to do any damage. Angel deflected the blows and caught hold of his son’s arms.

“What? Who?”

“My father!” he yelled. “They killed my dad!” He struggled for a minute longer, then gave up and sobbed into Angel’s arms. “They killed my dad. They killed my daddy.”

Angel nearly doubled over. He touched a hand to his gut, certain that it would come away covered in blood. His other hand cradled Connor’s weeping face to his chest. “What happened?”

“Demons. Last night. They broke into our house. They dragged my parents out on the lawn, and then…” His breath caught in his throat. “I was out. I came here to see you, but you weren’t here, and I didn’t get home until…”

Last night. Angel had been at Connor’s house last night. It was fine. Everybody was fine.

“It was them,” Connor gritted out. “Wolfram &amp; Hart. I caught one of the demons who did it. He said it was a warning for you, to stay away.” He sobbed again. “I’m the one they wanted. It should have been me.”

“No. No, they can’t hurt you. I made sure they couldn’t hurt you. Before the fight, I made sure you’d be okay, but I didn’t think…” The implication hit him full force, and Angel felt the ground beneath him falling away. “Oh, god, Connor, I didn’t think…”

“What?”

“There’s a contract, with Wolfram &amp; Hart. It says they can’t touch you, ever, but…” Angel’s voice dropped, and he couldn’t bear to look his son in the eye. “I don’t think the same thing goes for your family.”

Connor stared at him in disbelief. “So they’re attacking _my_ family, to punish _you?_”

Angel swallowed. “They know nothing would hurt me more than to see you suffering.”

He could see thunderclouds gathering in Connor’s eyes. They spread like the shadow of an eclipse, over his cheeks, down into his jaw. His soft, pretty mouth twisted into a killer’s smile.

“Fine. You started my suffering. You’re gonna help me end it. You’re gonna finish what you started in that fight. You’re gonna help me kill them all.”

Angel’s stomach sank. “Connor, Wolfram &amp; Hart has been around since before human beings walked this earth. And they’ll be here long after we’ve blown ourselves to pieces. You can’t take them on and win.”

“You took them on.”

“But I knew I couldn’t win. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m still alive! I should have been killed in that battle!”

Connor gritted his teeth. “I wish you had been.”

Angel’s eyes closed for an instant, then opened slowly. “Son. If you do this, everybody you love will end up dead. Trust me, I know.”

“They left my mom and my sister alive on purpose. As a warning. What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for them to pick off my family one by one? I need to protect them.”

“Connor,” Angel put his forehead against his son’s. Held his face in both hands. “Please.”

“You’re not gonna help me, are you?” He shoved Angel’s hands away.

Angel tried to put his arms around him again. Willed his son to learn from his own mistakes, to keep him from repeating them. He was a parent. He was doomed to fail.

Connor uncurled his body from the floor, a cobra rearing back for the bite. Snake eyes and animal skins, necklaces made of teeth. “Fine. If you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will.”

*

The trip to Slayerland had been like a class reunion. Half the girls there were Sunnydale alum. They recognized Spike, and were all agog over his miraculous recovery. They welcomed Colleen and her daughter like excited sorority sisters. Any friend of Spike’s is a friend of ours.

He came back to find Connor sprawled out on his couch, the video controller dangling in his lap.

“Gotta get a better lock for this door,” Spike commented wryly.

Connor was sitting quietly, staring at the TV. It was turned off. “We never did get to have that video game.”

Spike sat on the couch next to him. Reached his hand to out touch the kid’s knee, then thought better of it. Picked up the controller instead. “We could have a go now, if you want.”

“No. I liked the real fight better.” Connor stared at his hands. “Didn’t used to. Funny how fast things change.” He turned towards Spike. “Will you train with me?”

“Thought that was Angel’s gig.”

Connor snorted. “He gave it up for Lent.”

*

They found a quiet rooftop, high above Spike’s neighborhood, with the lights of the city sparkling down below them. Looking down on that sprawl of energy, Spike could feel the city pulsing with life. He could imagine that every person down there was part of the glittering, never-ending party that was L.A. They were all happy and successful and living their dreams, and everybody loved everybody.

He sighed. His poetry still sucked. Barry Manilow my arse.

They sparred for over an hour, and the fight seemed to work some sort of therapy on the kid. He seemed to enjoy the contact. Not have as much as Spike did, he reckoned. The tangle of limbs. The feel of lean muscle under his hands. The way Connor’s breath was warm on his face. The way his lips were so close when Spike got him in a hold, so close that he could just lean in, if he wanted to --

Connor wriggled out of the hold and flipped Spike flat on his back. He straddled him and made a stabbing motion with his fist. “You’re dead.”

Spike squirmed a bit under the boy’s hips. “Got a bit distracted.” He was still staring at Connor’s mouth.

The kid’s breath sped up a little. “Yeah. I noticed that.”

Their eyes locked, held for a minute. Spike’s thumb moved in a slow circle on Connor’s thigh. He could see the bulge in the boy’s jeans, just a hand’s breadth away. Spike licked his lips, waited.

The boy got off him and stood. Held out his hand.

“Guess we should get back,” Connor said, voice like gravel.

*

They walked back to Spike’s place in silence. Once inside, Spike motioned towards the couch. “Can kip here, if you like. Don’t have much in the way of extra blankets, but…”

Connor laid a hand on his arm. Squeezed. Spike’s skin crackled. He looked down at the hand, then up into the boy’s face. His eyes were black and huge.

“I’ll sleep in your bed.”

Two steps, and Spike had his mouth on Connor’s, his body crushing him against the wall.

And oh, god, the kiss. It was everything Spike wanted in a kiss. Fever and fire and blood racing beneath the skin. Connor’s lips were soft and opened to him completely. Let Spike’s tongue possess his mouth, taste everything that lay hidden within. Heartbreaking sweetness and deadly rage. Let Spike take it all, get drunk on the taste of him, the smell…

“You smell like him.” Forehead to forehead, lips a breath apart. “Why do you smell like him?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, eyes closed. “Is it a problem?”

Spike shook his head. “Really not.” Then his mouth was on the boy’s again, and the scent was forgotten. Spike’s hands caressed his face, and he leaned into the touch. Pressed their bodies closer, ground their hips together. The kid responded to him. Wanted him. It could not have been _less_ like kissing Angel.

They staggered the length of Spike’s flat and fell together on the bed, still kissing.

Clothes were in the way, so Spike got rid of them. May have ripped some in the process. Christ, the kid was so warm. So smooth. He ran his hands over Connor’s chest, his arms. Slid his tongue down his neck, teased his nipples. Watched Connor’s face, so he’d know what the boy liked. So far, he seemed to love it all. It was enough to go to a vamp’s head.

“Wanna taste you,” Spike murmured. His mouth slid down Connor’s belly, hands reaching to undo the buttons on his jeans. Denim out of the way, Spike dipped his head and sucked the boy’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, god.” Connor’s body bucked beneath him. “Oh… fuck!”

It was over in seconds. Connor covered his face with his arm. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Spike peeled off the rest of their clothing. “None of that, now,” he shushed. “Got all night, we do.”

“Just tonight?”

Spike lay down alongside him, their bare flesh touching everywhere. “Or more, if you want.”

“Yeah. I might want that.”

Spike felt his blood surge.

Connor looked down their bodies, to where Spike’s cock lay hard and heavy between them. Ever so softly, he ran his fingers over the head. Down the length. Back up again. Slid his thumb over the head on the upstroke. Spike let out a soft groan.

“I’ve never done this, for somebody else.”

“You’re doing great,” Spike breathed.

Connor licked his lips at the encouragement. Grinned like a wolf, pushed Spike onto his back. Lowered his head until his lips just hovered over Spike’s cock. Stroked it once more, then took the head into his mouth.

Spike had a moment where he thought he might combust. He’d never seen a more perfect pair of lips around his dick. Fuck, his mouth was delicious. Soft and hot and slippery, eager and demanding. The boy’s tongue went everywhere, tracing a path over and over, letting the friction build, then finding a new path and tracing that, too. When Spike tried to put his hands in Connor’s hair, Connor grabbed his wrists, pinned them down to the bed. Made Spike lie still, made his wrists bruise, made him wonder who was really in charge. Then Connor’s hand moved between his legs and Spike forgot to care. Connor’s skin was soft, his fingers were warm and strong, his mouth was sucking his soul out through his dick and he could feel it, slip-sliding down his spine, gathering deep in his balls --

“Jesus Christ!” Spike’s back arched and he came with a yell.

Connor crawled up Spike’s body and lay across him. “Thought you were gonna pass out, for a minute there.”

“Very nearly did,” he replied. “Bloody brilliant, that was.”

“I’m a quick study.” Connor nipped at Spike’s lips. “What else can you teach me?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Everything,” Connor said, and it sounded like an order.

*

“He’s my father.”

Spike lay in the darkness, spooned against Connor’s back. The words were so soft, he barely heard them.

“What’s that?” Spike lifted his head.

“Angel. He’s my dad. My real dad.” Connor’s voice dropped again. “Though it doesn’t feel that way.”

Spike sat up, ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Jesus,” he breathed.

He was full of questions, and Connor answered them all. “Jesus,” he repeated, at the end of the story.

“I asked him to help me fight Wolfram &amp; Hart.” Connor shook his head. “He wouldn’t.”

“Kinda see where he’s coming from, there, mate. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ve already been hurt,” Connor replied, his voice thick and bitter. He turned pleading eyes on Spike. “Will you help me?”

Spike felt his insides turn to jelly. He reached up, put a hand on the boy’s face. “Any way I can talk you out of it?”

Connor shook his head.

“It’ll be dangerous,” Spike went on. “You could get killed.”

Connor grinned in the dark, and his smile was sticky as a spider’s web. “They can’t kill me,” he said. “I’ve got a contract.”

*

The minute Spike walked into the hotel lobby, Angel could smell it.

“Hey, boss.” Spike dipped his head, kept his eyes on the floor. Angel’s nostrils flared and he took another breath, deep and heavy.

“Some stuff I gotta talk to you about,” Spike continued. His arms hung quietly at his sides. His posture held none of the usual swagger.

It did nothing to appease Angel’s rage.

A sound formed deep in his belly, pushing its way up, past his chest and into his throat. His lips curled back over his fangs and the noise came out as a howl.

Spike held up his hands. “Now, before you go all…”

His mouth was full of Angel’s fist before he got to finish the sentence.

Spike fell to the floor and Angel leapt on top of him, his arms an insane hail of blows. He felt, rather than saw, the bruises forming on Spike’s skin. Felt his own snarls reverberating around the lobby, the bones cracking under hands. Son. My _son_. Teach that _fucking_ little _shit!_ He pounded until the blood spattered into his eyes, his vision nothing but a red haze.

When he raised his eyes to look for a stake, he found Illyria looming over him. She quirked her head at him. Then there was nothing but blackness.

*

Spike sat on the basement floor, leaning against the wall. Lit up a fag to pass the time. Glanced over every now and then at the critters in the glass house next to him, building their little castles and hives. Gave a little chuckle of satisfaction. At least their cage didn’t have bars.

Not like Angel’s.

When he was on his second smoke, Angel began to stir. The old man heaved himself up. Took in his surroundings the way he always did, like a cat looking for a bolt hole. Must’ve decided there wasn’t one, because he punched uselessly at the bars.

“Mummy decided you needed a time out,” Spike drawled.

Angel growled at him. Flat out growled, as if he were prey. “Get the keys.”

“Blue’s got ’em. ’Spect she’ll let you out eventually. Meantime, thought you and me might have a little chat.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“That right?” He pointed to the bruises on his face. “ ’Cause, you ask me, this here speaks loud and clear.”

“Are you working for them?”

“Who?”

“Wolfram &amp; Hart.”

“Have you gone completely round the bend?”

“Clearly I have. Either I’m insane, or I’ve woken up in some bizarro world where the bane of my existence is fucking my _son!_”

Spike snorted. “Seems to me that’s one of the _least_ bizarre things has ever happened in our world.”

“Wolfram &amp; Hart are after Connor. They want to punish me by making him suffer.”

“And you think sleeping with yours truly is punishment, is it?” Spike leered at him. “You of all people oughta know better’n that, Da.”

Angel charged at the bars. Clenched his fists around them as if they were a neck. “Don’t you fucking call me that!”

“Sorry. _Sire_. That better?”

“Nothing’s better. Nothing will ever be better again.”

“Such a fucking drama queen! You know, you might have avoided all this if you’d bothered to tell me about the kid in the first place. I knew he had some kind of deal with you when I met him. Never figured it’d be this.”

Angel pushed away from the bars. “Oh, that’s great. You thought he was my little fuck toy, so you couldn’t wait to get a piece of him. You just can’t keep your dick out of anything that’s mine!”

“I didn’t know he was yours!” Spike leapt to his feet, paced the floor. “If I had, I wouldn’t have gone within a hundred miles of him. Bloody sick of lickin’ up your dregs, you self-righteous prick! I asked him, and he said there was nothing between you.”

“What do you mean, you asked him?”

“We _talked_, Angel. It’s what people do. Talked about movies and music and a thousand other things that never seem to enter your pea brain.”

Angel laughed, and the sound echoed off the concrete walls. “I get it, now. He’s a teenager, and you have the mental capacity of one. He should outgrow you by next week, at the latest.”

“Jealous, are you? Can’t stand the idea of your boys gettin’ along?”

“He’s not supposed to get along with you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re a fucking piece of _shit!_”

Spike spread his arms wide. “Just the way you raised me.”

“And you’re gonna, what? Raise _him_, now? Teach him to fight and fuck and kill things with his teeth? I didn’t give him up so he could go all Terminator with you!”

“So, that’s it, innit? Don’t want the prodigal sullying up your nice, clean, human son? Well, let me tell you something about your son, Angel. I am not that boy’s demon. _He_ is.” Spike flung his arm at the stairs, as if Connor might materialize there. “You can’t protect him from that. What the hell were you thinking, keepin’ him all magicked up like that?”

“You don’t know the first thing about it,” Angel snarled.

“I know you.” Spike jabbed his fingers towards him. “Contain and control, everyone and everything. Divide us all up into neat little boxes. Keep the boy under glass with his baby pictures and a lock of Buffy’s hair. Keep ol’ Spike in the closet with your bullwhip.” He got up close, right in Angel’s face. “But you forget, mate. I’ve been on both ends of that whip. That boy is no holy relic, and Buffy’s hair always smelt like cum right after I fucked her.”

The blow was sharp and strong and utterly predictable. Yet it still managed to catch Spike off guard. He flew across the room till he hit the wall. Landed on the critter farm, crashing through the glass. Shards flew up, dirt scattered, ants ran for the hills in every direction.

“Get out of my sight,” Angel growled. “And don’t come back.”

Spike picked at the pieces of glass cutting through his jeans. Thought the old man might actually mean it, this time. Not that it mattered. Much.

He heaved himself up. Wiped his hands down on his shirt. Sniffed, straightened his coat.

“Wouldn’t worry too much, there, Gramps. Boy won’t stray to the dark side for too long. Wouldn’t want to do anything to piss off Daddy.” Turned on his heel, stalked towards the door. Spit the words out like snake venom. “The kid loves you.” Refused to look behind him. “They always love you.”

*

The days passed in a desert of restless sleep; the nights in a windstorm of violence. Connor counted time by the number of demons he killed. Every night, new hides to skin. New claws to cut off. A dozen different colors of blood, smeared in glistening trails all over the city. And none of them led to Wolfram &amp; Hart.

It was a trail of red, finally, that gave him his first lead.

Spike had sniffed out some of his old poker buddies from accounts receivable. Took a while. Three were dead, and the fourth didn’t want to be found.

Connor found him, anyway.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything,” the man burbled through a mouthful of blood. “The sons of bitches fired me after they closed up shop.”

“They haven’t closed up shop.” Connor punched him again.

“Corporate has.” The man turned his head and spit, and a tooth clattered to the pavement. His words came out fast, a rabbit on the run. “Look around, you see a Wolfram &amp; Hart office anywhere? Their headquarters were wiped out twice in the last two years, once by the Beast…”

“…once by Angel,” Connor finished.

“L.A.’s not cost-effective anymore, they’ve changed tactics.”

Connor squeezed the man’s arms until the bones started to crack. “How?”

“Agh! Jesus, let go!” He was close to gnawing off his own foot to get out of the snare. “Guerilla warfare, alright? Instead of accountants and lawyers, they got fanatics hiding in the concrete jungle. Recruit a few nutbars, blow up a target every couple of months.”

“And my family was one of the targets.” Connor kneed him in the groin, and the man went down. “Where are they?”

“They got cells all over town,” he gasped. “Caves, sewers, abandoned buildings. Anyplace they can use as a bolt hole. Move in fast, move out faster.”

Connor got down on the ground. With one hand, he pulled the man’s head up by the hair; with the other he pulled out a knife. He held the point of it up to the man’s eye. “Tell me where to find one,” he said.

Ten minutes later and the guy told him. After he’d stopped screaming.

*

The wall of the cave didn’t so much collapse as peel back, like the tin off a can of sardines. Angel stepped through the hole Illyria had made, sword swinging. A minute later, there was only a single human left standing, behind a desk at the back of the room.

“Angel.” Voice like a bee sting, honey and venom together. “You’re early.”

Angel took in the familiar form, dressed in unfamiliar army fatigues. “Lindsey,” he sneered. “Lorne was supposed to kill you.”

“Did a bang-up job, too. Wolfram &amp; Hart can break anyone out of hell. They own most of it.”

“So. Back to being a lowly minion again.” Angel spun his sword around in a slow circle. “Sucks to be you.”

Lindsey shrugged. “Beats getting your eyeballs eaten by rats for all eternity. But then you were always partial to rats, weren’t you?”

“Enough to know one when I smell it.” Angel leapt over the desk and squeezed a hand around Lindsey’s neck. “And you’re gonna start squealing. What’s the plan?”

“Same as always,” he gritted out. “Destruction. Mayhem. Third-quarter profit margins.”

“I mean,” Angel slammed Lindsey’s head back against the cave wall, “for Connor.”

“Plan’s already been executed. Job done, move onto another target. Bigger fish to fry.” He shoved Angel’s hand away. Rubbed his throat. “Hard as it may be to believe, it’s not always about you.”

“So I’m supposed to believe that you’re gonna, what? Just walk away?”

“For now. You want people to live in fear, you gotta leave ’em with something to lose. A mom. Kid sister.” Lindsey’s lips curled back over his teeth. “New boyfriend.”

Angel punched him, twice, then grabbed him by the shirt and threw him across the room.  
He strode over to where Lindsey had landed on the floor; bent down, got right in Lindsey’s face. “I don’t have anyone left to lose. You can’t kill Connor. What are you gonna do to me?”

“We don’t need to _do_ anything. Why do you think we left you alive in that alley? We knew you’d fuck it up, like you always do. You. Your boys.” He nodded at Illyria. “Even her.”

“I vanquished my enemies in battle,” Illyria said. “I do not owe my existence to the Wolf, Ram and Hart.”

“No,” Lindsey said. “You just survived. We’re not really sure how.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nice job sniffing us out, by the way. Did better than Connor.”

Illyria lifted her head with something akin to pride. “I have been studying warrens such as this.”

Angel got to his feet, kicking Lindsey in the ribs on his way up.

“Stay away from my son,” he snarled.

“You’re too late, there, champ. Damage is done.”

“He’ll survive this.”

Lindsey’s eyes glittered like a glacier under the Arctic sun. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

*

By the time Connor and Spike found the cave, there was nothing but a gaping hole in the wall. Bodies, scent, weapons, paper trail -- everything had been scrubbed clean.

“Dammit!” Connor whirled around the space, hair spinning into his eyes. “How did they know we were coming?”

“Groups like this, they always know,” Spike said. “It’s like those opposable magnets, chasing each other around a board. Get close to one hideout, they pull up stakes and move to another.”

“Then let’s blow up the board,” Connor said, eyes like a charging bull. “Root up the whole city till we find them.”

Spike’s eyebrows drew together. “People gotta live here, Connor.”

Connor let out a howl and punched the cave wall, then punched it again. Kept battering until dust fell from the roof onto his hair, his shoulders. His knuckles turned into a mealy pulp under the onslaught.

Spike reached out for his arm. “Here, now -- ”

Connor whirled around and kicked him in the gut. Spike landed in the middle of the room, on his back. Connor leapt over, straddled him and hit him in the face. But Spike was done playing punching bag. He grabbed Connor’s arms, flipped them both over. Got Connor face down on the floor, arms pinned behind his back.

“That’s enough,” Spike said, in a voice he’d used on Dru once or twice. “You gonna play nice now?”

Connor kept squirming underneath him. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father.”

“Know enough of his tricks, though, don’t I? Know a thing or two about keeping his brats from killing themselves.”

“Fuck you.” Connor twisted and bucked, managed to roll himself onto his back. Spike was still straddling him. “Fuck you,” he said again, but this time, their eyes locked. Connor’s tongue flicked out from between his lips, the way Angel’s always did right before he kissed him.

Spike crashed his mouth down on Connor’s, yanked his arms up, pinning the bloody hands over his head. The scent alone was enough to make his head swim. Connor pulled his hands free, tore at their clothes. Spike pushed the boy’s legs up, bent him nearly in half. Brought up fresh blood as he thrust in, hard. His ears roared.

“Is this how he did it?” Connor ground his teeth together. “How he kept you in line?”

“Sometimes.” Christ, the way the kid was squeezing around his cock -- Spike had to choke the words out. “Fucked me. Beat the crap outta me. Bled me till I passed out.”

Connor put his fist up to Spike’s lips and Spike fastened on, tongue lapping between the knuckles. The taste slid down his throat and into his balls. His game face came out, and this time he didn’t try to hide it.

“Filthy demon,” Connor muttered, bucking his hips up. He turned his head, bared his neck. “Do it,” he said. Spike stared, mesmerized, but he hesitated.

“Do it!” Connor snarled, and punched him in the face. Spike’s head snapped back, and when it came forward again his teeth landed in Connor’s throat. He surged forward, riptides and blinding light, whole body following his dick. Connor’s howl sounded very far away.

Spike pulled his fangs out of Connor’s neck as soon as their hips stopped moving. It took him a lot longer before he could put his game face away.

A tear rolled sleepily down Connor’s cheek. “You didn’t take enough,” he mumbled.

Spike thumbed the tear away. “Missed the artery,” he said. “Not gonna help you kill yourself.”

Connor gave a small huff. “Who else is gonna do it? Angel did. Didn’t take. Wolfram &amp; Hart can’t.”

“Yeah, well, I’m thinking it’s time we gave up on this pet project of yours. Even if we find these guys, take them all out, there’ll be more signing up tomorrow to take their place. You should go back to your Mum. Live your life.”

Connor sat up, tipped over slightly. Spike held him upright. “I’m doing this for her,” he said. “Don’t you see that?”

Spike ran his fingers tenderly over the bite marks in Connor’s neck. They’d already started to heal. “How’s she doing?”

“Okay, I guess. I haven’t talked to her in a few days.”

“ ’Magine she’s worried about you.”

“At least she’s safe, where she is.” Connor closed his eyes, laid his head down on Spike’s shoulder. “I miss my dad,” he said.

Spike stroked his hair. “Which one?’’

“All of them.”

*

“Is your mission accomplished now?”

Angel looked up from his chair in the lobby, wondering where the hell Illyria had come from. All this time spent with her, and he still couldn’t hear the slightest noise when she approached. “What mission?” he asked.

“You have rooted out your enemy’s foot soldier. Obtained information that is important to your cause. What use do you plan to make of it?”

Angel looked past her to the fichus tree over her shoulder. “Connor’s safe. That’s all I need to know.”

“You are wrong.”

A flicker of fear crossed Angel’s brow. “Wrong that he’s safe?”

“Wrong in that you require nothing else. You are despondent. Without purpose. A being without purpose is like an insect without its colony. You deserve to be trampled beneath my boot heels.”

He folded his arms. “Fine. Trample away.”

“You have abandoned your colony.”

“My what?”

“I have observed that humans require a social structure in which to function. Family. Friends. These are the structures upon which humans build their puny alliances.”

“I’m not a human.”

“Yet neither are you demon. In my day, demons were instruments of the gods, with no more self-awareness than a sword.”

Angel gave a sharp laugh. “Well, I like the phallic imagery, at least.”

“You are more than a sword. You swing any way you choose.”

“What?”

“You make choices. You direct your own course of action.”

He snorted. “Doesn’t really feel like it much, these days.”

“You are angry with your vampire offspring.”

“He’s not my offspring.”

“Because he has stolen your son.”

Angel made no reply. Just stared at the vine that curled around the arm of his chair.

“Wesley stole your son.”

He looked up into her face. Illyria tilted her head.

“You never forgave him.”

“I gave him a new life. Both of them.”

“As instruments, without choices. With no more will than the roaches beneath your feet.”

He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. “Well, everybody knows that when the world finally ends, the roaches are gonna take over.”

“And what will become of you, when the roaches are the victors?” He looked into her eyes, and for the first time since she’d clawed her way out of the Well, Angel could see a crack in her imperious gaze. “Your place is with your colony. If you do not rejoin them, your fate will be the same as mine.” She turned to go, trailing her fingers over the leaves of the vine. “I would not wish it upon anyone.”

*

Pour. Sip. Swallow. Refill. Angel had perfected this art back when he was human. Nowadays it took a lot more sips to get him where he wanted to be. But he’d get there. He had nothing but time.

The whiskey was good. Irish, aged 12 years. Cordelia had bought it for him as a gift the week after Connor was born. “We never got a chance to celebrate,” she’d said, “what with all the demons chasing us. We’ll drink it together on his first birthday.”

A year later, Angel had watched the skies burn as she boned him. Sip.

He sat in his office, the whiskey a lonely sentinel on his desk. Wasn’t always my desk, he thought. Wesley used to sit here, bent over his books. Angel wished he were here now, so he could sweep the books off the desk, bend him over it and fuck him till he bled. He should have done it back then, given Wes what he so obviously wanted. Might have kept the fucker from running off into the night with his kid. Sip.

He’d bought Connor a tiny hockey jersey, the week before Wes took him. And little bitty hockey sticks. He didn’t even know if Connor liked hockey. But he bet Spike knew. Sip.

Spike didn’t know jack about hockey. He knew about other things. How to comfort a madwoman, keep her from biting off her own tongue with just the sound of his voice. How far you could shove an ice pick through a man’s brain before he lost the power of speech. Because you had to keep him talking, if he was gonna spill the secrets of how to destroy an evil law firm.

Angel flexed his fist, trying to conjure up the feel of the knife that had given Connor his new life. He felt the weight of the wood in his hand, saw the flash of steel. But when he swung his arm, Connor moved out of reach, and the blade sliced through nothing but air.

*

The third bottle was almost empty by the time he got to Spike’s apartment. By that time he had a little trouble remembering how he got there. Something about his colony setting sail on the Mayflower. Well, he was gonna stage a mutiny. Tie up the captain, kidnap the cabin boy and keep him locked in his room where the sea monsters could never get him. He pounded on the door.

It opened and Spike’s scent assaulted him. Except it wasn’t Spike standing there. It was Connor, in just his jeans. Feet bare, no shirt on. Lithe and lean with blueberry eyes. Lips red and parted and a just-been-kissed expression on his face.

He was so fucking beautiful.

“Dad,” he said.

The sound of that one word, falling from those lips, was enough to sweep away Angel’s anger like ashes from a hearth. He took a step across the threshold and fell to his knees, his arms wrapping around Connor’s waist. The bottle tumbled to the floor.

“Connor,” he gasped.

Connor’s hands reached down and ran through his hair, and a small sound hitched in Angel’s chest. The hands were sunlight on his face. A warm summer wind. They were breath and a heartbeat, and all the things Angel never thought he would have.

“I love you,” he sobbed. “God, Connor, I love you so much.”

“Shhhh,” Connor soothed. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay.”

Then there were other hands on Angel’s face, brushing away tears. Angel turned his head to find Spike on his knees next to him.

“You,” Angel whispered. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spike sighed. “I hate you, too, ya sod.” Then Spike’s mouth was on his, and Angel remembered again how the two of them had never been any good at talking.

But oh, god, the kiss. It was everything Angel wanted in a kiss. Home and family and nights filled with the hunt. Spike’s mouth opened and let Angel taste everything that lay within -- passion and wild things and sweet, utter surrender. Spike arched his neck back, letting Angel climb up into his mouth, and how could he have forgotten? That Spike was his, would always be his; might scratch and fight and decide to run, but would always come back, bringing with him all the lost and broken things he’d gathered along the way.

Spike toppled over backwards and Angel fell on top of him. His mouth moved in a long, slow slide down Spike’s neck, from his ear to his collarbone and back up again. Spike whimpered and bucked up against him. “Da,” he whispered. “Fuck, Da.”

Then Angel heard shallow breathing coming from over his shoulder. He turned his head. Connor was staring down at them, mouth open.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s… kinda hot.”

Angel’s dick jumped in his pants.

Spike gently pushed Angel away and sat up. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated Connor for a long moment. “You sure?” he asked.

Connor nodded.

Spike reached out and took Connor’s hand. In one swift movement, he pulled himself to his feet and tugged Connor down to the floor, kneeling next to Angel.

Angel’s mouth went dry.

“Connor,” he said. “Baby. I wanted to give you everything.”

Connor reached out and took Angel’s face in both hands. “You can give me this,” he said.

Angel looked into Connor’s face, watched him lick his lips. “Son…”

“Shut up,” Connor whispered, and Angel did.

He closed in slowly, as if he were trying to catch a raindrop on his tongue. At the first touch of Connor’s lips on his, Angel prayed.

_Please, God, don’t let him stop._

God wasn’t anywhere in this room. But Connor kept kissing him anyway.

His lips were so soft. Ripe and warm like summer fruit. Angel felt a little boy tongue slip into his mouth, and he sucked in a breath. Connor moaned and the sound went straight to his balls. He reached up and gripped Connor’s head. His hair was fine and soft, silk between his fingers.

“My boy,” Angel whispered against his mouth. “My beautiful boy.”

Connor pulled back a little, just enough to slide his hands down the front of Angel’s shirt. Button by button, he made his way down. When he got to the last one, he dipped his fingers down under Angel’s belt, sweeping two warm fingers over the head of his cock.

“Jesus,” Angel breathed.

Spike was behind him then, tugging Angel’s shirt off his shoulders. The two of them pulled Angel to his feet and maneuvered him towards the bed. Spike had gotten a new bed since the last time Angel had been here. A much bigger one. He tumbled back onto it, and Connor peeled off the rest of their clothes. Spike was already naked. That was his boy, always ready to fuck. Angel couldn’t help a little smile.

Connor smiled back at him. “You look good when you do that,” he said.

He crawled between Angel’s legs and took his cock in both hands. Angel’s belly did a little flip at the feel of warm skin around his dick. Then Connor lifted his head and looked at Spike.

“Tell me how he likes it.”

Angel closed his eyes and moaned out loud.

Spike shifted around, ran a finger along Angel’s cock. “Right there.” Connor’s tongue darted out to follow the path, and christ, it was so warm. Small breaths over wet skin. “Just soft at first. Barely there, that’s it.” Spike’s voice was low, brothels and red velvet. “Use your teeth a bit, just a nibble.” Angel squirmed on the bed. “Yeah. See how he likes that?

Spike rested his hand on Connor’s head, stroked his hair. “Now all the way down,” he murmured, and Angel watched as his cock slid into a hot, slippery mouth.

“Oh, god,” he moaned. “Connor, please…”

“Shhhh,” Spike whispered. “We’re gettin’ there. Now just on that same spot, but a little harder. Just let it build for a bit. Gets him going reeal good.” Angel’s fingers began to curl into the bed sheets. “That’s it. Now, take your hand,” he took Connor’s hand, and Angel could feel two sets of fingers between his balls, “and press right. There.” Angel bucked and thrust up hard into Connor’s mouth.

“Now take it as far as you can, like you’re trying to swallow it down.” Angel’s hands flew to Connor’s head, landing on top of Spike’s fingers, squeezing them hard. After that, he couldn’t hear Spike’s voice any more, drowned out by his own babble: “So good, baby. Just like that. Just the way Daddy likes it. God, baby, your _mouth_ \-- ” His body arched and he came with a strangled cry, hands pressing against Spike’s fist and Connor’s skull.

Angel lay still for a moment, waiting for the room to spin back into focus. When it did, he saw Connor crawling into Spike’s lap. He watched as their hands entwined; as they kissed, deep and hungry; as Spike tasted his come in Connor’s mouth. His cock began to twitch back to life.

Then he was rolled onto his side and Connor was behind him and Spike was in front, and there were hands and skin and tongue everywhere on his body. Hands on his ribs, his legs, between his balls. Skin pressed up against his back and chest. Teeth against his nipples, taking tiny bites. When he felt a warm tongue wriggling its way inside him, slicking him up, he froze.

Angel had tried never to fantasize about this moment. God knows, he’d tried not to lay in bed alone, hands under the covers, imagining Connor’s body beneath his own. In those imaginings, Connor had been pliant and grateful, letting Angel cover him like a shield. In those imaginings, it had never occurred to him that Connor might want to be the one doing the saving.

“Stupid git,” Spike whispered against Angel’s chest. “Let him love you.” He pulled Angel’s leg up and the tongue moved away. Then Connor slid inside him, and every wall that Angel had ever built around himself collapsed with a trumpeting cry.

Connor moved inside him as if he were something precious and breakable. As if his soul were fragile and full of light, not the leaden weight that crushed everything it touched. Spike slid down Angel’s body and sucked his cock into his mouth, scraping the skin with his teeth, and Angel moaned in gratitude at this reminder of everything they were. Because otherwise it would be perfect and miraculous, like Connor himself, and it would be all too easy to forget, just for a moment, that he was a monster.

“I love you, Dad,” whispered in his ear, and Angel came hard in Spike’s mouth, shouting his son’s name.

*

They tumbled and turned all night, bright and slow, like a Ferris wheel. Turn, and Spike and Connor were the young lovers, sharing kisses and cotton candy. Turn, and Angel held Connor in his lap while his boy squirmed with delight. Turn, and Angel and Spike scratched and bit their way up to the top of the wheel, to where their history lay stretched out beyond the horizon. The words tumbled and rotated, too: slut and love you and baby and harder and please, Daddy, please please _please_

They collapsed at sunrise, limbs loose and floppy, tangled around each other like kittens in a basket. Slept most of the day away, till Connor crawled out of bed, complaining he was hungry. Spike had no food in the fridge, so Connor went out for breakfast. Or, supper, as the case may be.

Spike sat up in bed and rubbed his face. Reached over to the side table and pulled out his fags. Angel’s eyes twitched open as soon as he lit up.

“You shouldn’t smoke around him,” Angel said.

Spike heaved the sigh of the eternally put-upon. “Yes, Daddy.” Angel’s eyes closed again and Spike nudged his leg under the sheet. “Aren’t you gonna tell me not to call you that?”

“Not today.”

Spike grinned and took another puff.

Angel sat up and took the cigarette out of Spike’s hand. He reached behind Spike’s neck, pulled him close and kissed him. Nice and soft. Spike’s belly might have fluttered, just a bit.

“Thanks for looking after him,” Angel said, then gave Spike back his fag.

Spike shrugged. “ ’S what I do, yeah? Look after your toys. Had a hundred years of practice.”

“They’re not toys,” Angel said quietly.

“They break just as easy, sometimes.”

They shared Spike’s fag in silence for a minute. “Is he still on the rampage?” Angel finally asked.

“Out hunting every night. Not gettin’ anywhere, though.”

“I tried to tell him he wouldn’t.”

“Me, too. But he’s as stubborn as his old man.”

“He can’t keep this up.”

“Try tellin’ him that. He’s not gonna listen to you now any more than he ever did. Afterglow notwithstanding.”

Angel leaned his head back against the pillows. “Afterglow. Fuck, Spike, of all the things I’ve ever done…”

“Wasn’t just you doing, here, Angel.”

“I know, but,” he ran a hand over his face, “this can’t happen again.”

“Not sayin’ it should. But he wanted this. You do know that, right?”

“I just wish he wanted different things. _Human_ things. Hunting, killing,” he nodded at the rumpled sheets, “_this_. That’s not what his life should be about.”

Spike turned his body around until they were face to face. Stroked a hand down the middle of Angel’s chest. “But it is still what we’re about, yeah?”

Angel’s eyes darkened and he leaned in. Put his face along the length of Spike’s neck and nuzzled there.

“You’ve been feeding from him.” His voice was coal mines and cobblestones, murder and menace.

“Yeah,” Spike breathed. “Kid begs me for it. Comes so hard when I do it, nearly squeezes my dick off.” At that, Angel wrapped his fingers around the base of Spike’s cock and gripped it hard. Spike gasped. “You should taste him, Angelus. All that power. Can’t hardly stop myself, sometimes.”

Angel’s hand moved lower and he twisted Spike’s balls. “If you ever hurt him, so help me…”

Spike whimpered in pain. He shook his head quick. “Kid’s like a wild colt. Could buck me off anytime he wanted. No danger there.” Angel’s hand let go and Spike let out a long breath. He stretched his neck out. Knew Angel could smell Connor’s blood pooled beneath his skin. “Go on, then. Take it.”

Angel’s face changed and he sank his teeth in. Bloody hell, it was good. Hearth rugs and satin waistcoats and belonging. Spike felt the rumble building in Angel’s chest, felt it vibrate up his throat and against his skin. He bit deeper, pushing Spike onto his back, climbing on top of him, pressing their dicks together. Angel sucked until Spike was dizzy with it, until the room spun and changed and he was back in a four poster bed with velvet covers, golden with firelight and the smell of burning coal. Their cocks slid against each other and Angel humped him hard, harder than he had since those early years; both drunk on the boy’s blood and the shared taste of family. Spike felt it building, felt Angel’s need pressing into his balls, up his spine. There was a final, heaving thrust and a muffled cry, and Angel shot his load all over his cock. Spike came so hard the room went dark, and he fancied that hell had finally come to claim him.

Hell was so much sweeter than he’d ever imagined.

When Spike opened his eyes a minute later, Angel was flat on his back, panting.

“Guess you won’t be wanting breakfast, then,” Spike mumbled.

Angel laughed out loud, for the first time since long before the battle. Made Spike smile to see it. Didn’t last, though.

“I can taste it in him,” Angel said. “All that rage.”

“Can’t fix it, Angel.”

“No. But there might be someone who can.”

*

Connor found his mother in the garden of the Slayers’ compound. She smiled when she saw him, and his heart gave a little jump. She hadn’t done that since before that night.

“God, baby, where have you been?” She stood up and hugged him close. “It’s been days.”

“I’ve been working, Mom.”

“Working on getting yourself killed,” she said, the smile going out of her voice.

He pulled away from her. “I can handle myself.”

“A mother worries, Connor. Even if her son is some kind of superhero.”

“We’ve had this talk already, Mom.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’re as stubborn as your father.” Colleen took his hand and led him over to a bench. “There’s something else happening, Connor. I’m worried about your sister.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“She’s been going out with these girls at night. Patrolling. She’d decided she wants to be a vampire slayer.”

Connor’s face paled. “You can’t just decide to be a Slayer, Mom. It’s something you’re born into. She’s not a Slayer.”

“She thinks she can be, if she trains hard enough and learns how to fight. Some of the girls have been teaching her.”

“She’s gonna get herself killed! What the hell is she thinking?”

“She’s _not_ thinking, Connor. That’s the point. She’s angry about what happened.”

“Oh, I’ll show her angry,” Connor snarled, and jumped up to go.

“Stop right there!” Colleen stood and grabbed his arm, gripping it with a strength he never knew she had. He turned back to face her, and her eyes burned with something black and fearsome.

“You think I’m not angry?” She gripped the cross she always wore around her neck. Held it out for him to see. “The only reason I wear this thing anymore is to stave off vampires. I can hardly bear to look at it. Because if God is up there, then how can he let creatures like that walk the earth? How could he have let…” Her voice broke, and she let go of Connor’s arm.

“Mom…”

“Your father’s dead, and I hate him for it. God, I loved him so much, and now all I feel is rage. And now my children are off on this suicide mission, and you’re both going to end up like he did, and I hate you for that, too.”

“We’re trying to protect you, Mom.”

“I’m your mother, Connor! I’m supposed to protect you!”

“Not from this. You said it yourself.” The bitterness dripped from his voice like poison from a fang. “I’m a superhero.”

Colleen looked him square in the eye. Her voice shook. “Do you know what a hero is to me, Connor? It’s someone who takes care of the people he loves. Who helps them through the hard times. Someone who’s around often enough to _notice_…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and the tears broke over her lashes. “I’m all alone in this place, day after day. Trapped like a bug under glass, and you’re never around. I’m right here, baby, and you don’t even see me.”

Her face cracked wide open, and Connor’s whole childhood tumbled out in front of him. Candy and toy cars and baseball games; summer and skinned knees. Band-aids and kissing it better. He grabbed her and held her tight, tight enough to keep them both from breaking.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I love you, Mom. God, I love you so much.”

“I know, Connor.” She ran her fingers through his hair and they sank together to the ground. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

*

“My mom wants to go back to New York,” Connor said.

“Back?” Spike wanted to look at him, but it meant looking away from the screen. The kid was kicking his arse at this game and he needed to catch up.

“Yeah, she’s got family there.” Connor shot down two more robots. Spike cursed. “She says she’s through with California. Too many bad memories.”

“Sounds like a plan. Got it!” The rocket was worth two hundred points. That put them neck and neck. “You gonna go with?”

“I probably should.” There was a whooshing sound as Connor blew up the space station.

“Shit!” Spike growled. A voice came on that sounded like Illyria. _Game. Over._

Connor threw the video controller on the table. “It’s just… how do I know they won’t follow us there?”

“You don’t. Evil’s got eyes everywhere. Can’t protect yourself from it, no matter where you go.”

“So I’m supposed to just give up? Sit back and wait for them to hunt us down?”

“You’re supposed to live your life.”

“What kind of a life is that for them? Sitting around, waiting to die.”

“You tell me. You’re the one with the expiration date on the package. I’m gonna live forever.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, Connor. Wolfram &amp; Hart went after you and yours to get to Angel. Warn him not to come back at them again. Well, mission accomplished. Angel was through with that lot anyway, the minute he slew that bloody dragon. He’ll go back to helping the helpless or saving puppies, or whatever mission gets up his arse next week. Long as you don’t go antagonizing Evil Incorporated, they’ll leave you alone.”

“How do I know that for sure?”

“You don’t.” Spike sighed. “Look. Angel and me should both be dead by now. The mucky mucks at Wolfram &amp; Hart left Angel alive so they could make him suffer, and they left me alive because _I_ make him suffer. But we got the last laugh on them, ’cause we’re alive.”

“Actually, you’re both dead.”

“I’m philosophizing, here. Don’t confuse me with facts. So, yeah, maybe our lives suck -- ”

“Thanks a lot,” Connor grumbled.

Spike fluttered his eyelashes. “Present ray of sunshine excepted. The point is, they may suck, but they’re still ours. So you gotta ask yourself -- what do you wanna do with yours?”

Connor looked at his hands, as if he would find the answer in his palms. Finally he said, “I wanna take care of my family. Like my dad did.”

“Well, then,” Spike reached out and pushed a piece of hair back behind Connor’s ear. “Start spreadin’ the news.”

*

Connor stood in the lobby of the Hyperion, showing Spike the places where he grew up.

“That’s where I came through the portal,” he said. “And that’s where I first tried to kill Angel.”

“First time I tried was in a hotel, too.”

“No way!”

“Way. Royal London, if memory serves.”

Angel glowered at them. “You both sucked pretty hard at it, ’cause…” he held out his arms, “still here.” He grinned at Spike. “Though Connor put up a better fight than you.”

Spike huffed. “Daddy’s pet.”

Connor picked up his bag. “I should get going,” he said. “Gotta meet my other family at the compound.” He walked up to Angel and kissed him chastely on the lips, then put his arms around him. Angel held on tight, and for a moment considered never letting go.

Connor pulled away, but Angel kept a hand on the back of his neck. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Connor looked around the hotel. “In my father’s house, there are many rooms,” he said.

“And I go to prepare a place for you,” Angel finished.

Connor smiled and ducked his head. “You had to send me to an Irish Catholic family, didn’t you? Eight years of Sunday School. I should kill you for that alone.”

Angel laughed and cuffed him lightly.

Connor turned to Spike, and kissed him full on the mouth. Longer than Angel would have liked.

“Take care of him,” Connor said. Spike just nodded.

“I’ll keep in touch,” he said, heading for the door. “I promise.” Then he was gone.

Angel and Spike stood in the lobby for a few moments, watching the door swing behind him. Neither of them spoke.

“You have reconciled with your offspring.” They both jumped at the sound of her voice.

“Fuck, Blue, will you stop sneakin’ up on us like that?”

Illyria raised her chin. “I am pleased you have returned.” She nodded at Angel. “This one has been intolerable since your departure.”

A leer spread across Spike’s face, and Angel had never been so happy to see it. It felt a little like home.

“Yeah, well, broody pants here just needed a little R&amp;R. I’m gonna give him plenty more where that came from.” He nodded at a glass case on the floor next to Illyria’s feet. “Whatchya got there?”

“I have acquired a new collection to replace the one you destroyed.” She picked up the case to reveal a pair of butterflies trapped inside. She fixed an icy gaze on Spike. “Do not be so careless with this one as you were with the last.”

“Yeah, well, that was Angel’s fault. Long as I can keep him from poundin’ on me, we should be right.”

Illyria considered this. “There is little chance of that.” She turned to Angel. “Do not fling Spike around these rooms any longer.”

Angel folded his arms. “You first, lady.”

“Now, now, kiddies. Play nice for Uncle Spike.” Illyria glared at them, then set the case back down on the floor. “You know, Blue, it takes more than two specimens to make a collection.”

“There are more in the upper levels of this jungle. I will show you.”

Spike headed up the stairs after her. He threw a wink over his shoulder at Angel. “You can fling me around your rooms later.”

Angel waited until they were out of sight, then picked up the case and carried it into the garden. He sat on the bench, breathing in the scent of jasmine and the new flowers that Illyria had planted. He held the case up to eye level, so he could examine the butterflies more closely.

Ulysses. They were beautiful, a breed he’d seen decades ago in the rainforests of Australia. Their wings were as luminous as stained glass in an ancient cathedral: brilliant blue edged by leaden black, so vivid they seemed to glow from within. The hapless insects flung themselves unwittingly against the walls of their cage, colliding with the invisible glass.

Angel set the case down on the bench next to him and opened the little door. A warm wind picked up, blowing a draft of air into the small enclosure. One butterfly caught the breeze and flew out into the garden. Angel waited to see if the other would follow. But it settled quietly on the floor of the case, folding its wings together.

Angel closed the door softly on the butterfly’s home, then smiled at the night sky as he watched its companion flutter away.


End file.
